


Greensleeves

by MissYuki1990



Series: Prompts [4]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Lord of the Rings - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Mpreg, Slash, explicit content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 02:23:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2564810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissYuki1990/pseuds/MissYuki1990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>When he reached the stranger’s side his eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat in his chest, for the man sleeping under the old tree was the most beautiful creature the King of Mirkwood had ever laid eyes upon. </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greensleeves

Written for **lostfeather1**!

I do hope you will like this. I haven’t seen any fics with this pairing, and I really hope I’ll manage to inspire someone to write more of it!

**Special thanks to EbonyKitty552 for correcting everything that I messed up because of my lack of knowledge when it comes to Tolkien’s world!! I owe her the world! :D :D**

**Disclaimer:** I claim no rights to the characters of The Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter. They belong to their rightful owners. The song featuring in this story is ‘At the Ceili’ performed by Celtic Woman. I claim no rights to anything.

 **Warnings:** slash, explicit content, Mpreg

**cut**

The night sky was alight with the stars, and Mirkwood forest was quiet. Only the night animals moved, while all other beings dreamed. But, in that silence, a lone figure walked the secret paths of the dark forest.

The lone man was clad in a long black cloak, shielding his slight body from the chill of the night, and a hood was pulled low over his head, hiding his features from any eyes that might see him. Delicate shoulders heaved under strain as a long-fingered hand took a hold of a tree to keep the trembling figure standing, but a moment later he fell to his knees, finally overpowered by weakness.

He leaned against the tree and tilted his head back to look at what little dark sky he could see through the thick branches of the forest. The weak light of the Moon caressed pale skin and brightened tired emerald orbs; orbs which carried sadness and pain in their glowing depths. Lush pink lips parted slightly as a sigh rolled off of them.

“So this is how it ends.” The breathy whisper was heard by no one, and tired emeralds disappeared behind heavy eyelids.

As he relaxed against the tree, his hands resting tiredly in his lap, his head lolled to the side and a long breath left his lips.

And, in the darkness of the night, a lonely heart gave up hope, not knowing that salvation was just around the corner.

**cut**

King Thranduil of Mirkwood wandered his kingdom, unable to sleep. His mind was restless and his heart knew no peace as his light feet carried him further and further away from his Halls. He left his people behind, for they were celebrating the night away, and he could not find it in his heart to join them.

His wanderings were stopped when he stumbled upon a peculiar sight, and his thick eyebrows nearly met when he realized that a stranger had managed to walk into his lands without being noticed. Ever so slowly he approached the still figure, his right hand straying to the dagger attached to his belt, hidden by his long green robe.

When he reached the stranger’s side his eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat in his chest, for the man sleeping under the old tree was the most beautiful creature the King of Mirkwood had ever laid eyes upon.

The hood had slipped off of his head to reveal long tresses, so dark that they seemed to have captured the very essence of shadow, for the King has never seen such black color in anything living or dead. The skin, as pale as moonlight, looked soft and unblemished, and black lashes rested lightly upon high cheekbones. Long-fingered, elegant hands rested in the stranger’s lap, and shallow strained breaths made his shoulders rise and fall.

Thranduil approached the still figure and knelt beside, raising his left hand to caress the stranger’s forehead with a tender touch.

“Born!” (hot) he yelped when he felt the burning skin, frowning when a pained groan left lush lips. Making a quick decision, he gathered the man into his arms, and his frown deepened when he felt how light the body was even by Elven standards. The stranger’s head lolled to the side to rest on Thranduil’s chest, and the King could almost feel heat rolling off of the body in waves.

He returned to the path leading back to his city, praying in his heart for the man to hold on.

Such beauty did not deserve to perish.

**cut**

Bleary emerald eyes opened slowly, and a low groan rolled off of soft lips.

“Easy! Easy, pen bain.” (beautiful one) A deep, velvety voice spoke words he could hardly understand, and eyes the color of the stormy sea gazed down upon him while a tender hand caressed his sweaty brow. He tried to speak, but his throat hurt too much, and his body was wracked with heavy coughs. “Easy…”

Something was pressed to his lips as his head was raised, and he sighed in relief when cool water flowed down his throat. His heavy head was lowered to a soft pillow and he opened his eyes to look at his caregiver.

“Who…?” he managed to gasp out, and thin, pale lips tilted into a smile.

“You are safe, pen bain.” (beautiful one) That voice which soothed his weary mind rolled off of thin lips, and relief washed over his feverish body. “Nothing shall harm you. Sleep. Sleep and get well.” Even though he wanted to stay awake and find out more about his savior, his eyes slipped closed, and within seconds darkness had claimed his mind.

Thranduil sighed as his patient fell asleep again, strained breathing raising his chest and fever shaking the lithe form. He dipped a wash-cloth into the bowl of cool water he kept beside his legs and gently wiped the furrowed brow of his sleeping patient.

He brought the man to his palace just last night and it had caused quite a commotion in his city. A healer had already come to see to the raven-haired beauty lying in his bed, and the only thing she could tell him was that the stranger needed rest and food whenever it could be kept down.

It took little effort to settle the beautiful man in his chambers for he was lighter than an Elf. Once his heavy cloak was removed and Thranduil could take a look at him under brighter light, the king couldn’t help but reconsider his thoughts. The man was not only beautiful; he was the embodiment of perfection.

His hair was longer than Thranduil first thought, falling to the middle of his back in thick, soft tresses, a slight wave giving it the look of flowing velvet. The light of the fire brought out its glossy, smooth sheen. And while he changed the stranger’s clothing into something more comfortable, Thranduil frowned at the sight of pale scars on the beautiful man’s body. It was obvious that he was a warrior, but the scars did nothing to mar the beauty the man personified. The body was build was lean, although short for a man, and yet he was obviously strong if the defined muscles were anything to go by.

But the most amazing thing about him was his eyes; eyes which Thranduil glimpsed for only a moment. Even though they were shadowed with fever and unfocused, the vibrant green which could be seen around the dilated pupils reminded Thranduil of grass with morning dew decorating the swaying strands.

His elegant, long-fingered hands were callused, which meant that the beautiful creature lying in his bed was no stranger to hard work, and Thranduil was brought to wondering just where the man came from. Surely, rumors of such beauty existing in Middle-Earth would have reached him!

The man was no Elf, but he couldn’t be of any kin of Men, for Thranduil had never seen mortals hold such delicate beauty while—as was evident to his eyes—hiding immense strength. Just by touching his skin, Thranduil could feel a raging current of raw power which flowed through the man’s veins.

Was he one of the Ithryn? (Wizards)

But Thranduil _knew_ the Ithryn, and this creature could not be one of them.

It appeared that he would have to wait for his patient to get better before receiving answers to his many questions.

Until then, however, he would take good care of the beautiful man, for in Thranduil’s mind such beauty should be cherished and kept safe, and no harm should ever befall it.

**cut**

The King of Mirkwood looked up from the scroll he was reading when a low, pained moan reached his ears. To a Man it would have been inaudible, but to his ears it was quite loud. He left the scroll on his table and walked over to his bed to take a seat upon the sheets just in time to witness the opening of emerald eyes.

Since the fever had broken the night before, those ethereal orbs were more aware than last time Thranduil gazed into them, and the King of the Woodland Realm felt as though he was being observed by one of the Valar themselves, for those eyes seemed to see right through him to his very core.

“I do hope that you are feeling better,” he said as gracefully shaped eyebrows met in a confused furrow. “I am Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, and you have been in my care for three days.”

“Thank you.” The voice which rolled off of perfect lips was weak and strained, and hardly louder than a whisper. “I had given up hope before you found me. I owe you my life, your Highness.”

I smile tugged at the corners of Thranduil’s lips, and he raised his right hand to tenderly caress the man’s brow. “If I may know the name of the man I have saved?” A small smile tilted full lips and Thranduil’s heart fluttered in his chest.

“I have had many names,” the man whispered, “many of which I have long forgotten, but you may call me Ithildin.”

“Your name suits you,” Thranduil said, and Ithildin frowned as he swallowed with difficulty, the action straining his sore throat. “You should not speak anymore. While your fever has broken, you must rest still.” He helped Ithildin drink some water and Ithildin sighed in relief as he rested back against the soft pillows, his eyes slipping closed for a moment.

“Thank you.” Thranduil laughed softly, and Ithildin opened his eyes to look at the king.

“There is nothing to thank me for, Ithildin. Rest now. We shall talk more when you are better.” He watched as Ithildin fell asleep again, breathing already lighter and color returning to pale cheeks.

 _Ithildin,_ he thought as he brushed the fingers of his left hand through black tresses. _Êl síla bo lú o ’ovadel-mín._ (A star shone upon the hour of our meeting)

**cut**

“I see that you are feeling better.” Ithildin turned around and smiled at Thranduil when the king walked into his chambers, finding the dark beauty standing on the small balcony over-looking the forest spread as a blanket beneath.

“You weren’t here, your Highness, and I wanted to see where it is that I am,” he said as he bowed before Thranduil. He had pulled his heavy cloak over the light comfortable clothes in which he was dressed when he had been brought to the palace, and his long hair flowed around his small frame in waves.

“Come, you must be hungry.” Thranduil showed him to a table around which two comfortable seats were placed and a bowl of various fruits sat waiting, and Ithildin smiled gratefully while he slowly walked over to take a seat. Thranduil joined him and plucked out one of the white grapes, giving permission for Ithildin to eat as well.

A smile tugged on Thranduil’s lips when Ithildin took one of the ripe cherries.

“If I may be so bold, Ithildin, who exactly are you? And what brings you to my kingdom?” he asked. At these words Ithildin sighed and swallowed. He sat in his chair with his back straight and his left hand resting in his lap, his legs crossed at the ankles and tucked under the chair.

“I am Ithildin of the Maiar.” Thranduil’s eyes widened but he managed to suppress any other reaction as Ithildin looked into his eyes from under messy fringe. “I was not born a Maia, but I became one when, in my youth, I mastered three powerful items that changed me into something more than a mere human. Upon my death I was changed into a Maia and ever since then I have been traveling through many worlds searching for my… searching for someone.” He quickly corrected himself as he bowed his head, but it hadn’t stopped Thranduil from seeing his cheeks burn red and his eyes glimmer with sadness.

“And your search brought you to my kingdom,” Thranduil concluded.

The Maia nodded as he raised his head and smiled at the king. “I have traveled these lands for almost five years now. I was on the verge of giving up, for I have been searching for so long.”

“Is that why you have fallen ill?” Thranduil asked and Ithildin nodded as he looked to the side at the bright blue sky visible through the balcony window.

“I have been searching for so long,” he repeated in a whisper and Thranduil thought he saw a shadow cover Ithildin’s beautiful eyes. “I don’t even remember how long ago I started.” Thranduil unconsciously held his breath as Ithildin tilted his head back a bit and his cupid-bow lips tilted up into a small, sad smile.

“For what have you been searching? Maybe I can help you find it.”

A weary laugh shook Ithildin’s shoulders, and he looked at Thranduil with somber eyes. “I have long lost hope of ever finding what I am looking for, King Thranduil. It is said that each living being has someone out there—someone who will complete them, who can make them whole. I have been searching for that someone for my whole life, and yet I have not yet found them.” He bowed his head, his fringe casting shadows over his eyes as he raised his right hand and placed it on his chest—right over his heart. “It is not my body that is ill, your Highness; it is my heart. For I have loved once and lost everything. I have given everything that I had and remained with nothing but this ache in my heart that simply never goes away. I have been searching for someone to ease this ache, and yet I have found no one.”

With a grave sigh he raised his head and smiled at Thranduil with closed eyes, trying to hide the tears which filled his eyes. But the King of Mirkwood saw them gathered on his long black lashes.

“Perhaps I am destined to remain alone.” Although his tone was light it was full of sadness hardly concealed behind false lightheartedness.

Without a thought, Thranduil rose and went to stand before Ithildin, making the beautiful man’s eyes widen and his whole body tense up. Thranduil took his hands between his bigger ones and squeezed them gently.

“I do not believe that such beauty is destined to be unloved. I refuse to believe that you are meant to be alone,” he spoke as he gazed down into wide emerald orbs now bright with surprise. “You are merely weary from your long travels. Stay here in my Halls and rest. You shall find peace and comfort here.”

“Your offer is generous, King Thranduil.” Ithildin spoke warmly as he raised their hands and, to Thranduil’s obvious surprise, kissed Thranduil’s hands reverently. “I shall gladly remain here, for I have long forsaken the lands of the Valar and the Maiar, and there is yet no way for me to return.”

“Then chambers will be prepared for you, Ithildin,” Thranduil told him. And Ithildin smiled brightly at him with relief shining in his eyes.

“Thank you, your Highness.”

“I have only one request,” Thranduil added, and Ithildin’s smile grew a bit when he saw the almost teasing smirk on Thranduil’s charming face. “I ask you to call me Thranduil, for I hope that a friendship may bloom between us, and no friend of mine calls me ‘your Highness’.”

Ithildin chuckled and nodded his head.

“Very well, Thranduil.”

**cut**

Thranduil took a deep breath as he stood in front of the door leading to Ithildin’s new chambers. He raised his right hand and knocked firmly three times and waited, though he didn’t have to wait long to be answered.

“Come in!” The melodious voice of Ithildin reached his ears and he pushed the door open. A smile tugged at his lips when he saw Ithildin still in the midst of arranging his chambers.

“I see that you are already settling in your rooms,” he commented and Ithildin smiled contentedly as he looked around.

“I have never seen any room this beautiful, Thranduil. Thank you.”

Indeed the rooms were tasteful. The walls seemed to be made out of rough stone, trees actually growing through them and meeting beneath the ceiling creating beautiful arches from their boughs. The floor was stone, riddled with thick roots, and to the right of the door was a balcony with a railing woven of live branches which in spring bloomed with sweet white flowers and in autumn were full of orange, gold and red leaves. To the left was an intricately carved wooden wardrobe full of clothes Thranduil ordered to be brought to Ithildin, made out of finest materials that could be found in Mirkwood, and beside it was a vanity carved with equal skill, a large silver mirror hung above and a small wooden chair with a plush pillow waiting in its cradle.

The bed, set against the wall across from the entrance, was carved from one of the trees of Mirkwood and gracefully shaped into a boat and big enough to fit four people comfortably. The outer edges of the light brown wood were decorated with swirling veins, and the linens were made out of dark green silk. The big pillows at the head of the bed were emerald green, and Thranduil couldn’t help but notice that the fabric only _almost_ matched Ithildin’s eyes; he was sure that no craftsman would ever be able to copy their incredible color.

To the left of the bed a door led to a bathing room, where a natural, warm spring resided.

Somehow, Thranduil thought that the rooms suited Ithildin, and the Maia obviously loved them.

“I am glad to see that you like your rooms,” he said as he approached Ithildin, and the Maia’s broad smile gentled into a something softer.

“I adore them. Although it all seems a bit much, _especially_ the clothes you have gifted me.”

“You deserve only the very best, Ithildin,” Thranduil replied seriously, making the Maia’s cheeks turn rosy pink. Emerald eyes widened when Thranduil moved his hands—which he was until now hiding behind his back—and offered Ithildin a bouquet of beautiful white flowers. “These grow only in this time of year. I do hope you like them.”

“Thranduil, they are beautiful!” Ithildin gushed as he accepted the flowers and brought them to his nose, sighing when the tender fragrance filled his senses, and smiling shyly at Thranduil before he walked over to the vanity where an empty vase stood. He took the vase and disappeared in the bathing room for a moment before he returned with the flowers now placed inside. “They are absolutely lovely.” He placed them on the vanity before he turned around to face Thranduil, who was looking at him with a small, crooked smile and his arms clasped behind his back.

“I was hoping that you would join me for dinner, Ithildin,” he requested, and the Maia nodded vigorously, his eyes glimmering with blooming happiness.

A week has passed since Ithildin woke up in Thranduil’s chambers, and the Maia was already feeling much better. The nature around him and the kindness of the Wood-Elves, especially the care of their king, brought repose to his tired mind, and Thranduil discovered that Ithildin was even more beautiful than he at first had thought when that face was decorated by a lighthearted smile, and joy and peace radiated from those bright eyes.

It was quite obvious that he loved the forest, and that—even though his heart was far from healed—he was at least finding some peace and rest for the first time in what Thranduil guessed was a very long time.

“I would love to, Thranduil. Do I need to change?” Ithildin asked.

Thranduil’s eyes traced the lithe form from the pale green leggings tucked in knee high boots with slightly raised heels, to the white long-sleeved shirt over which a tight, long, sleeveless, dark green tunic followed the smooth lines of the slender torso, parting over slightly curved hips on both sides and dancing around long legs with every movement. The Maia’s long hair was half braided and half gathered up at the top of his head in a ponytail, bound with a silver band. Dark fringe fell around the heart-shaped face, accenting vibrant eyes, and the high collar of the tunic brought out the long column of the Maia’s white throat.

“There is no need,” Thranduil told him as he offered his right arm to Ithildin, who hurried to his side and tucked his left hand into Thranduil’s elbow. “How do you like the hospitality of my Halls?” he asked as he led Ithildin out of his chambers and down hallways made out of wood and stone, with high torches lighting their path.

“I never thought I would say this, but I feel peaceful for the first time in a long, long while. There is something here that brings peace to my heart, and I find myself feeling lighthearted and content.”

“I am glad to hear that, Ithildin. If I may be honest, I thought the shadows which clouded your thoughts when I brought you here would weigh down on your mind and heart. I feared that they would not allow you to see the beauty of my kingdom, that you would not be able to find peace.”

“I thought so as well,” Ithildin admitted, “But I can honestly say that I am enjoying my stay here. You have been so good to me, and I simply cannot help but feel almost relieved. As though I have found something I have long been searching for.”

“It brings me joy to hear you say that, Ithildin,” Thranduil said as he smiled down at the smaller man. “I hope in my heart that one day you start thinking of my kingdom as your home.” Ithildin looked up at him with eyes wide in wonder, and Thranduil’s smile warmed.

A moment later wonder faded from Ithildin’s features to be replaced by tranquility, and Thranduil’s heart soared when Ithildin walked closer to him, almost leaning against his taller form. “I would love that,” the Maia murmured as they entered the dining room where many Elves already sat around many round tables arranged around the great hall.

Thranduil led Ithildin over to his table on a raised dais, to the Maia’s obvious surprise. But Ithildin said nothing as the king sat him down in a comfortable chair to the left of the king’s place. The Elf stood in front of his throne as silence settled over the room and many Elves looked up at them as he began to speak.

“My dearest friends,” his voice carried through the hall, “it is to my great joy that I share with you the joyous news that Ithildin of the Maiar has chosen to stay with us here, in our Halls. I freely call him my friend—a friend of _all_ of my people—and wish that one day he may call our kingdom his home.” Many glasses were raised in Ithildin’s honor, and as Thranduil took a seat in his throne he too raised his glass for him.

Unknown to him, deep inside Ithildin’s heart a spark appeared, a spark that has been slowly dying ever since his youth. Hope found root in his soul again, and peace settled in his mind, for as he gazed at the proud King of Mirkwood, somehow he knew.

He had finally found what he was looking for.

Dinner went on with cheerful chatter filling the air, while Ithildin and Thranduil sat beside one another in comfortable silence, gazing upon the many Elves before them. It didn’t take long for the Wood-Elves to start drinking and singing, and Thranduil looked at Ithildin when the Maia chuckled at one of the merrier tunes.

“Do you sing, Ithildin?” The Maia blushed and bowed his head.

“I have never sung for anyone,” he admitted. “However, I do sing, but I do not know if my voice will please your ears.”

His breath hitched in his throat when Thranduil gently touched his chin with the tips of his fingers and slowly raised his head. “There is no doubt in my heart that I will love your voice,” the king reassured, and Ithildin took a deep breath as Thranduil lowered his left hand back to the armrest of his throne. “Please, sing something for me.” Ithildin closed his eyes as he slowly exhaled and bowed his head a bit. Thranduil leaned back with eyes focused solely on the enchanting visage of the Maia.

And, as a velveteen, soul-healing tune started to flow off of cupid-bow lips, silence settled in the great hall, and every head turned to gaze in amazement at the earth-bound angel which descended into their midst.

_Long have I traveled the forgotten roads_   
_which not many feet have traveled before._   
_Far from the comfort I used to call home,_   
_not looking back once I closed the door._

_In solace I wandered many a trails,_   
_longing and dreaming of a warm, safe place,_   
_where a compassionate heart would wish me to stay,_   
_and my tired feet would at last find rest._

_Through many a meadows I made my way;_   
_through forgotten caverns and a secret gate._   
_Visiting cities—never to stay,_   
_for there was a longing nothing could sate._

_High in the mountains covered in snow,_   
_my trails have vanished long ago._   
_Not many roads remember my steps._   
_No warm Inn granted me rest._

_From the sandy shores by the restless Sea,_   
_to the highest tops of the highest hill,_   
_I sought repose for my tortured soul,_   
_finding but loneliness, and endless sorrow._

_I saw no beauty in the light of the stars;_   
_the Moon’s cold caress only tortured my heart._   
_The Sun’s warm rays could not warm my skin,_   
_—left alone, and shivering_

_I sought to end my lonely travels._   
_I sought to find an end to sorrow._   
_But darkness swallows the bravest of hearts_   
_when left alone in pain to wallow._

_But though I wished for absolution_   
_(for Death to claim what Life once owned)_   
_Still I found a spark of hope in this torture I called life._   
_I looked at the Heavens for which I felt no admiration_   
_and prayed that—if I must die—at least I die in love._

No heart was left untouched by the sorrowful verses which captured their minds. Silence reigned over the great hall as a sigh left lips which sang but a moment ago, and emerald eyes opened slowly, although Ithildin didn’t raise his head.

A moment later a single pair of hands started to clap and Ithildin looked up in shock to find Elves standing up one by one and a thunderous applause filled the hall. He looked at Thranduil who was staring at him in amazement and something else—something he could think of no words to describe.

A blush covered his cheeks when Thranduil raised his left hand and gently cupped his right cheek. He caressed it with his thumb as a gentle smile crept at the corners of his lips.

“You have found what you have been searching for.”

And even though he couldn’t say exactly why, Ithildin actually believed those words.

**cut**

Ithildin took a deep breath and tilted his head back to soak in the warm rays of the early autumn sun. Soon enough autumn would turn to winter and snow would turn the amber colored forest white and gray.

Standing on the balcony of his chambers, Ithildin plucked one of the orange leaves from the branches of the railing and brought it to his nose. It amazed him how even the leaves carried a yet undefined fragrance in the forest of Mirkwood, something unnamable and comforting. With a sigh he turned around and walked into his room as night started to settle.

Torches burst to life as he walked down the middle of his room and brought the leaf to the vanity, placing it beside a beautifully carved comb Thranduil gifted him with. He took a seat in the chair and slowly released his long hair from its binds, lifting the comb and slowly brushing his locks, strand by strand. His eyes slipped closed and his lips tilted into a small, contented smile.

Two months had already passed since his arrival, and for the first time in a long, long while, he could honestly say that he was happy. The Elves accepted him and he could say that he was becoming a part of their community. They revered him and respected him, and he had come to love them as well.

His relationship with Thranduil was something else, though. Even though Ithildin never believed he would find something like that again, he found himself thinking and hoping that he finally found what he had been searching for.

The King of Mirkwood was treating him as though he was the greatest treasure in Middle-Earth. The Elf was kind and generous, gentle and loving, and yet Ithildin could see that there was a great strength in him. He was a wise, good ruler, and it was obvious that his people loved him, although there was also sadness in him as well.

Even though their pasts were vastly different, Ithildin could see that Thranduil was also lonely despite being surrounded by his people. Somehow it seemed that the two of them simply found one another in that sea of loneliness and together made everything they lived through more bearable. They would spend long days talking about everything and nothing. Sometimes they would simply walk the beautiful gardens of the kingdom, enjoying the quiet of the evening in comfortable silence.

Ithildin found warmth and love blooming in his heart for the King of the Woodland Realm, and while he had yet to do something about his feelings, he knew that Thranduil carried the same sweet sorrow and blossoming warmth in his heart, although the Elf also had yet to do anything to ease his feelings.

The Maia sighed as he threw the strands of his long hair he already combed over his shoulder. Just as he was about to reach for the back, the comb was gently plucked out of his hand. He turned and opened his eyes only freeze for a second in surprise. Thranduil stood behind him, a crooked smile on his lips reflected in the mirror, and Ithildin’s face brightened as the King started to brush his hair.

“I did not hear you when you entered,” Ithildin commented softly, enjoying the careful, long swipes of the comb through his silky hair.

“You were deep in thought and I did not want to disturb you.” Thranduil spoke with his eyes focused on the velvety strands in his hands. He seemed enchanted by the light breaking on the black silk he was brushing. “If I may ask, what were you thinking about?”

Ithildin laughed quietly and looked at his hands which he clasped in his lap. “I thought about how much my life has changed ever since you brought me here. A long, long time ago—before I died—when I was still just a human, I never thought I would find such peace. Back then, I had a wife. I had three children. Even though centuries have passed and I have forgotten their faces and names, there is still a small part in my heart that remembers them. I was happy with them. I loved them. But even then something was missing.” Thranduil listened as he finished brushing Ithildin’s hair before he placed the comb on the vanity and started to braid a few strands right above Ithildin’s slightly pointed right ear.

“Ever since you brought me here, this emptiness in my heart started to fill with something I have been looking for ever since I was reborn as one of the Maiar. I have longed for this sense of belonging—this peace and happiness I have been searching for in many worlds. I am happy for the first time in my life.”

“And I am happy to hear you say that, Ithildin,” Thranduil said as he gazed at the Maia through the reflection in the mirror, glimmering emerald orbs meeting his warm and comforting silver eyes. “I have been thinking…” He hesitated as he finished the first braid and fastened it with a small wooden clip before he moved on to the other side. “For a while now I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“You know you can ask me anything, Thranduil,” Ithildin assured him, and Thranduil nodded with a tight smile.

“In all honestly, I find myself at a lack of words.” He finished the braid and entwined it with the first, joining them into a single braid. Once he finished it, he gathered the rest of Ithildin’s hair and tied it low, using the braid as a band and a single small clasp in the shape of a flower to fasten hair in place.

He took a deep breath as he moved back to admire his handiwork before he rounded Ithildin and kneeled beside him, causing the Maia to frown in confusion. He turned in his seat to fully face Thranduil, and the king gently covered his petite, elegant hands with larger ones.

“Ithildin, it has been a while since you and I met…” He started slowly as though he weighed every word before he let it pass his lips. “For the past months you and I have gotten to know one another, and—if I may be so bold—I dare say that I believe that I have made a place for myself in your heart.” Ithildin’s eyes widened and his heart beat faster in his chest as Thranduil looked up into his eyes. “I can say with great certainty that you captured my heart before you even opened your eyes, but you had taken my soul and mind when you and I first spoke. I care deeply for you, Ithildin, and it would make me the happiest man alive if you were to become mine and accept my affection.”

It appeared as though Ithildin stopped breathing as he stared at Thranduil with wide eyes and parted lips.

“Was that— Are you asking me to…?”

“I am asking you to stay by my side as my husband, as my consort, and as my friend. I am asking you to rule this kingdom with me, to have children with me, and one day—when the call of the sea reaches our ears and hearts—leave this world behind with me, so that we may spend eternity on the vast white shores of Valinor.”

As Thranduil spoke, tears of happiness gathered in Ithildin’s eyes and the most breathtaking smile Thranduil had ever seen graced the Maia’s beautiful features, making the man almost seem to glow. “I would love nothing more than that,” Ithildin whispered.

Thranduil let go of the breath he was unconsciously holding. He laughed with quiet joy as he stood up, pulling Ithildin along, and when they stood before one another, he raised his hands and gently cupped Ithildin’s face within his palms, leaning down to kiss the Maia tenderly. The gesture was soft, as though reassuring a frightened doe which suffered many misfortunes that it would never be harmed again.

Ithildin released a wavering breath once they parted and gazed up at Thranduil as he took a hold of the King’s wrists with his hands. The king caressed his cheekbones with callused thumbs and a loving smile curved the Maia’s lips in return.

“I never dreamed I would feel such happiness,” Ithildin whispered and Thranduil leaned down to kiss him again.

“I shall make sure that happiness and peace is all that you feel from this moment forward, meleth-nín,” (my love) he spoke in certainty. “I promise that no shadow shall darken your beautiful eyes ever again.” Ithildin closed his eyes as he took a deep breath and slowly leaned against Thranduil, wrapping his arms around the king’s waist, resting his left cheek against the Elf’s broad chest.

“And I shall forever remain by your side, hîr-nín,” (my lord) he whispered. “Even if the last ship leaves without us, I shall remain forever yours.”

**cut**

_I have seen the end of days_   
_—the Sun went dark and the waters stilled._   
_I have seen the Moon’s shine wane_   
_—the winds stopped blowing and the stars’ shine dimmed._

_I have heard the birds stop singing_   
_—their songs dying as the evening set._   
_I felt the Earth stop spinning,_   
_and I’ve seen the world in darkness enveloped._

_There was no light to shine upon us;_   
_Life has slowly dimmed to Death._   
_When Hope has died—as all things must—_   
_when Eternity breathed its last breath_

_There was no warmth, no light or living_   
_—what remained was nothing more_   
_than memories and woeful grieving_   
_in a heart which now knew naught but sorrow._

_But in your eyes I found salvation_   
_—and my heart now beats again._   
_Your love has granted absolution_   
_to a soul filled with sadness, melancholy and pain._

_I found repose and peace of mind._   
_I found a place I could call home._   
_Our lives—now entwined—_   
_meant that I am never again to roam_

_Alone the world of endless twilight,_   
_for I have found my one and only_   
_I found an ending to my plight,_   
_never again will I be lonely._

**cut**

Thranduil sighed in contentment as he observed his beloved Maia walking through the white covered gardens just beyond the gates. The first snow of the season had fallen last night while they were asleep, and it turned out to be a blessing, for Thranduil found himself surprised and pleased to discover that there was even more beauty to be found in Ithildin than he had thought. His raven-haired love was dressed in winter clothes and the white fur decorated the hood he pulled over his head, bringing out the dark strands of his hair, dark strands that swallowed all light and radiating its dark shine.

The King walked several feet behind Ithildin, watching with eyes full of fondness as the other looked around the snow covered forest, green eyes glowing with happiness and wonder. Gone was all of the sorrow that once weighed down on the Maia’s shoulders. Ithildin’s footsteps were light and he stood tall, his power radiating from his body, warming everyone around him with ease.

“Thranduil, this is beautiful!” The King’s thoughts came to a sharp stop when Ithildin turned around to face him, and his resplendent smile brightened the world around them. An answering smile rose upon Thranduil’s lips and he slowly approached Ithildin, raising his hands and lovingly cupping pale cheeks, caressing high cheek-bones with his thumbs. Ithildin’s face brightened with bliss and happiness, his full lips tilting up and his eyes glimmering with tenderness and warmth.

“There is no beauty greater than that of my Ithildin,” Thranduil murmured, and his whole body trembled when Ithildin placed his gloved hands on his chest and leaned up to kiss him. The hood slipped off of the Maia’s head, allowing the long raven strands to spill around his slight frame, and in the beauty of the winter morning the two looked like a meeting of night and day, the Moon and the Sun, forever sharing an embrace of eternal love.

**cut**

_Tonight we’re going to meet some lads;_   
_us girls are dressed up gaily._   
_We’ll be dancing till the dawn_   
_we’re going to the Ceili._

Ithildin laughed and leaned against Thranduil, who was smirking as he watched the Elves dance around three Elven maidens singing and dancing quite sensually. Ithildin glanced over at Thranduil, and the king gazed down at him, leaning in to steal a light kiss before one of the Elven maidens ran up to them and dragged Ithildin down to dance.

_They’re planning tunes on everything_   
_from pipes to ukulele._   
_It sounds so good you can’t sit down._   
_We’re dancing at the Ceili._

Ithildin’s and Thranduil’s eyes met over the crowd and Thranduil stood up slowly, making his way down from the dais upon which his throne sat.

_He writes me letters every week_   
_To say how much he’s slaving,_   
_And he promises that he’ll be back_   
_Before the hay needs saving._   
_But it’s hard to love somebody_   
_That you’re not in touch with daily._   
_So I’m looking for somebody new_   
_Tonight down at the Ceili._

The tune changed even as Thranduil reached Ithildin, and the raven haired man approached him slowly, allowing the king to pull him into strong arms while the dancing elves formed a circle around the pair.

_I hope I meet someone tonight_   
_Who’ll make my heart beat fast._   
_A handsome man with laughing eyes_   
_Who smiles as he walks past._   
_And when they play an old-time waltz_   
_He’ll twirl me round the floor._   
_And promise me that I will be_   
_His love forever more._

As Ithildin sang, Thranduil gazed deep into verdant eyes, his heart beating faster than it ever beat before. He held Ithildin close to his body with his left hand on the Maia’s thin waist, and the warmth which radiated from the smaller man enveloped him and entranced him, left him with no desire to release the Maia from his arms.

They stared deep into one another’s souls, almost unaware of people dancing around them, the lively melody of the song filling their ears.

“I’ve been lucky, I found a man who’s handsome and a neighbor,” one of the Elven maidens sang.

“And me, I’ve met a decent man whose friendship I will savor,” Ithildin sang lovingly.

“And me I’ve made my choice as well, and in no way was it easy. But I’d rather have a man who’ll love than be a rich-man’s lady.”

And as the song reached its peak, Thranduil led Ithildin out of the great hall and towards his rooms. The air was filled with heavy tension as they hurried down the halls, and once they were in the great bedroom, and the door was closed behind them, Thranduil pulled Ithildin into his arms and sealed his lips over Ithildin’s in a deep kiss.

They parted and Ithildin took Thranduil’s hands in his, leading him slowly over to the great bed. He pulled the king down beside him and reached up to take off the crown of vibrant leaves. Under the watchful eyes of his Elf, Ithildin carried the crown over to the vanity and placed it carefully upon the wood. Then he turned around and shivered as he caught the dilated pair of stormy silver eyes following his every move.

He swallowed difficultly as he took a small step forward and reached up to slip his thick winter robe off of his shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor as he walked towards Thranduil, who abandoned his own cloak as he rose from the bed.

When he stood in front of his king, Ithildin reached out to pull the rich tunic from Thranduil’s strong torso, trembling fingers brushing over hot skin as the thick clothing slipped off of the King’s lithe yet muscular frame.

Thranduil licked his lips as Ithildin knelt in front of him and he raised first his left leg and then his right so that the Maia might remove his knee-high boots.

Ithildin looked up at Thranduil as he slipped his hands up strong thighs and tucked his fingers inside the waistband, his eyes glancing at the proof of Thranduil’s desire tenting the front of his leggings. Ever so slowly he slipped them off, his mouth watering at the thickness of the member, desire lighting a fire in his belly.

Then, when Thranduil had stepped out of his leggings, the king reached down to gently take Ithildin’s hands in his and tug his Maia upwards. Ithildin bowed his head and a blush covered his cheeks when Thranduil unbuttoned his tunic and slipped it off of white shoulders.

Thranduil’s eyes turned almost black as more and more pale skin was revealed to his hungry gaze. The flickering light of the torches made Ithildin’s skin shine like liquid gold, and the Elf frowned when Ithildin attempted to cover himself with his quivering hands, his hair falling around his small frame like a veil.

“Man coroch?“ (What are you doing?) he asked lovingly as he cupped Ithildin’s face between his large, gentle hands and tilted up his Maia’s chin. “Do not hide yourself from me, pen bain. Even your scars are proof of your beauty to me.” He slowly turned them around and made Ithildin lie down upon the soft bed, and the Maia gasped when the cool silk touched his skin and made goose-bumps rise.

The king knelt between Ithildin’s parted legs and slipped his hands up quivering thighs, across lightly rounded hips and over the thin waist. Long, silky blond hair fell around them, caressing Ithildin’s skin as the Elf moved, while the Maia’s own hair surrounded his head in a dark halo. He gasped softly when Thranduil bowed over his body to lay a loving kiss on a thin white scar on his left shoulder and arched upwards when thumbs teased his nipples to hard peaks.

As Thranduil kissed down his throat and chest, Ithildin brushed his hair back behind his pointed ears, and looked upon his king with scorching eyes. Swiftly, the Elf moved up and kissed Ithildin even as the Maia entwined his fingers in Thranduil’s hair. The embrace of lips deepened, and the Maia sighed in contentment at the taste of Thranduil and the feeling of thumbs circling tender buds, pressing lightly against them and sending shivers of pleasure over his body.

The Maia’s eyes slipped closed and a long wavering breath left his lips as he threw his head back and allowed Thranduil to adore every part of his body. Those warm lips sent shudders up his spine and his skin burned wherever they brushed. For the first time in his life Ithildin felt that he knew what it meant to be worshipped and cherished as though he was the most precious being in the world.

His breath hitched in his throat and he arched off of the bed when he felt a hot breath caress his aching member. Hands fisted in the silky sheets and he threw his head back with parted lips as that scalding warmth enveloped the head of his cock. His right hand flew to his mouth and he bit into his fist to muffle the wanton moans and cries escaping his lips as those lips engulfed him in burning wetness and heat. Looking up at the impassioned Maia, Thranduil growled around his lover’s cock as he took it in to the back of his throat, and only his hands on Ithildin’s hips stopped the Maia from arching off of the bed completely as his orgasm surprised him, tearing a choked cry from his throat.

As he heaved for breath, trying to find enough air for his starving lungs, Thranduil pulled away and kissed a path up his stomach and chest, leaving a lingering kiss on his neck right over the frantically pumping jugular vein before he gently removed Ithildin’s fist from his lips and kissed the dents left by his teeth. Breathing deeply with his own arousal, Thranduil rested his forehead on Ithildin’s, allowing their breaths to mingle between them while Ithildin brushed his fingers gently through Thranduil’s hair, fleetingly caressing sharp cheeks with the tips of long fingers.

“Mathoch maer?“ (Are you feeling well/good?) he murmured lovingly and Ithildin chuckled breathlessly.

“Maer dae,” (very well) he answered, and Thranduil’s eyes glowed with love and warmth. Ithildin lightly pushed the king back with a hand upon his chest, and the Elf took a deep breath when his lover sat up beside him, the Maia bracing that slender body upon his right hand and looking down at the king with a small, mysterious smile. There was a thin circle of green around his dilated pupil, burning brightly with promises of pleasure beyond anything Thranduil had ever experienced as that slender body bent around him and an arm reached toward something tucked into the sheets beyond his sight.

Then the Maia leaned over Thranduil to kiss him, and the king forgot about everything else. Dark hair fell around them like a veil, hiding them from the rest of the world, and the king gasped in the Maia’s mouth when he felt long, dexterous fingers wrap themselves around his rock hard cock, slicked with oil and hot to the touch.

“Allow me, hîr-nín,” Ithildin murmured as he trailed kisses down Thranduil’s chin, across his well-defined chest and stomach before he placed a loving kiss at the tip of his lover’s sex. Long fingers carded through his hair as the primal scent of his Elf filled his senses, and in an attempt to distract himself, he licked his lips and took the proud length of his King into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and shivering at the king’s sound of pleasure. He watched Thranduil’s head arch back and listened to that deep voice rumble into a groan as he sank down as far upon the shaft as he could, grasping the Elf’s powerful thighs with his fingers.

Thranduil, reaching his limit, entwined his free hand in Ithildin’s long hair and pulled the Maia away, instead pressing Ithildin back and opening his legs wide. It took a moment to spill sleek oil across his fingers, and then reached out to caress over soft skin, dipping between the globes of the Maia’s ass. The cry of his future husband as a single finger slipped inside left Thranduil shuddering, and he reveled in the helpless moans of pleasure from those cupid-bow lips as he prepared the entrance for something much bigger than a finger.

His lips went dry with lust and he almost came undone when he added another finger and felt Ithildin groan in pleasure, clenching tightly around the invaders, for he could not help but imagine himself inside. Curling his fingers upwards, searching for the way to bring his mate the greatest pleasure, Thranduil watched the Maia gasp and writhe when the tips of those digits brushed against the hidden prostate. Flushed, Ithildin covered his lips with his right hand, trying to muffle the beautiful sounds again.

Within moments the Maia found himself on his back with his hands pinned above his head and Thranduil looking down at him with passion-blown eyes.

“You shall not keep yourself quiet, melethron,” (male lover) the king growled as he bowed down and nibbled on Ithildin’s bottom lip. “I wish to see and hear all of you, for this sight is for my eyes, and my eyes only. No other shall touch you or hear you. No other shall call you his own.” He nudged Ithildin’s entrance with the tip of his cock, slick and wet and ready, and Ithildin whimpered as his eyes slipped closed and his own member twitched in expectation, coming back to life even though it had not been long since Thranduil brought him to his peak.

Thranduil kept a firm hold on Ithildin’s wrists with his left hand while he cupped his mate’s left cheek with his right. As he sealed his lips over Ithildin’s, he slowly pushed inside the tight, welcoming heat, swallowing the moan of pleasure which he tore from Ithildin’s lips. As he sank in to the hilt, he stilled and rested his forehead on Ithildin’s, heaving for air while the Maia gasped and shivered beneath him. Ithildin whimpered and tensed up when he shifted, and the King stilled and bowed down to tease Ithildin’s lips into a slow kiss.

“Move…” the Maia whispered against his lips, “Please, please, I need you to…” His words melted into a cry when Thranduil pulled out and thrust back in forcefully, making Ithildin throw his head back with lips parted in a choked, silent scream.

He moved slowly, changing the angle with each thrust, his eyes focused on Ithildin’s beautiful face, watching as that head was thrown back and cupid-bow lips were parted. There was a blush on pale cheeks spreading down to the slender neck, and the Maia’s skin glowed in the light of the torches, while raven black hair clung to sweat-slickened skin. It was a beautiful, sharp contrast, bringing out the unique beauty belonging only to Ithildin.

Green eyes snapped open and the Maia cried out with ecstasy when Thranduil finally hit his sweet spot, and the King of Mirkwood grunted in pleasure when the tight channel around his hard member grew even tighter. Ithildin hooked his thighs on Thranduil’s hips, arching up into him, and the king took a firm hold of Ithildin’s left thigh with his right hand, his thrusts becoming quicker and harder.

Ithildin couldn’t think about anything. The only thoughts in his mind were the immense pleasure and the feeling of finally being home.

The moment Thranduil let go of his hands, he fisted them in his lover’s hair, pulling him into a kiss, and not a second later his orgasm overwhelmed him. The Elf followed close behind, his whole body shivering as he emptied his load into the welcoming heat of Ithildin’s body.

As they came down from their peak, Thranduil braced his weight on his elbows and opened his eyes when Ithildin cupped his face between his hands.

The Maia leaned up weakly to kiss him. “I love you, aran-nín, estel-nín,” (my king, my hope) he gasped out between pants. Thranduil released a long breath before he hid his face in Ithildin’s neck, humming in contentment when the Maia wrapped slender arms around his shoulders.

“And I love you, hervenn-nín, cuil-nín.” (my husband, my life)

Wrapped in one another’s arms, joined in the way only lovers could be, they fell asleep. They dreamt of a joint future, unaware that one of the greatest blessings a couple can ask for was to be granted to them by the grace of the Valar.

**cut**

Thranduil sighed as he walked into his chambers only to frown slightly when he found them empty. His frown quickly turned into a tiny smile when he found the door leading to the bathing room open and the light tunes of a song floating through the air.

He left his crown on the vanity and shed his clothes on his way to the bathroom, halting in the doorway when he found his beautiful consort sitting in the deep natural hot spring with his hair bound at the top of his head, woven into many entwining braids fastened by silver clasps.

Thranduil crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe, enjoying the lovely voice of his beloved.

_I’ve seen the way from joy to sorrow,_   
_I’ve been at home, and gone tomorrow._   
_I’ve traveled worlds and worlds apart,_   
_I’ve gone from end—from end to start._

_I sought the joy the road can bright,_   
_I’ve seen the wonders of the Spring._   
_I felt the warmth of Summer’s sun_   
_and the cold of Winter come._

_Autumn’s rains have washed my face,_   
_I’ve been blessed by the Moon’s grace._   
_I’ve felt the Sun caress my soul,_   
_I’ve seen wonders—young and old._

_But none of them could hold my admiration_   
_like the sweet, adoring satisfaction_   
_of being loved and held by you,_   
_like only lovers know and do._

Thranduil laughed softly, and Ithildin tilted his head back to look at him.

“I did not hear you enter,” he said as Thranduil pushed himself away form the doorframe and walked over to join Ithildin in the hot bath. The Maia moved, making a place for the king right beside him on the submerged stone bench. The moment Thranduil took a seat, Ithildin straddled his lap.

“You were singing and I did not want to interrupt you, pen melui,” (sweet one) Thranduil answered while Ithildin gathered his hair and took a clasp from his own bun to secure it on the nape of Thranduil’s long neck. “You know how much I enjoy your singing.”

“I know, hervenn-nín,” Ithildin said as he cupped Thranduil’s face and pulled him into a light kiss. “Is everything alright?” he asked.

Thranduil sighed while he rubbed gentle circles in Ithildin’s thighs. “The scouts found spiders on the edges of our borders,” Thranduil explained, and Ithildin frowned in worry. “There is darkness growing in the old fortress to the south. I have sent men to investigate, but if the spiders have returned then it can only mean one thing: darkness may come again.”

“Do not let dark thoughts weigh down on your mind, aran-nín,” Ithildin spoke reassuringly as he caressed Thranduil’s face with the back of his hand. “Whatever hardships lie ahead, we shall be ready.” Thranduil nodded and slipped his hands up Ithildin’s thighs and to his waist while the Maia smiled and wrapped his arms around Thranduil’s shoulders.

“With you by my side, what have I to fear?” he asked, and Ithildin laughed in reply. “I have the light of the Moon and Stars to light my way, and the darkness of Shadows to conceal me from sight.” He spoke as he caressed Ithildin’s left cheek with his right hand, pausing to brush away a strand of hair which escaped the binds behind the Maia’s left ear. “With you by my side, there is nothing that I fear, Ithil-nín.” (my Moon)

“Neither do I, Anor-nín,” (my Sun) Ithildin whispered and rested his forehead on Thranduil’s, shivering despite the hot water when Thranduil traced the curve of his spine with his left hand as he cupped the back of Ithildin’s neck with his right.

Ithildin moaned and arched closer to his king when Thranduil teased his entrance with the tip of his middle finger, all the while massaging the back of his neck with his other hand. A wavering breath left Ithildin’s lips, and they parted in a soundless gasp when two fingers slipped inside him without much resistance. The king below licked his lips as he slowly moved his fingers in and out of the tight heat, causing Ithildin to grind down on his hardening length.

The water sloshed around them, muting out any other sound but their breathing and their hearts beating in their ears. Thranduil slipped his right hand down Ithildin’s neck as he pulled his fingers out of the tight passage and took a hold of his mate’s thighs. He raised Ithildin up with hardly any effort, and both held their breath as Ithildin lowered himself on Thranduil’s hard cock.

Resting his forehead on Thranduil’s, with his arms loosely wrapped around the King’s neck, Ithildin slowly started to roll his hips. Their eyes were locked on one another’s and their heavy breaths mixed between their lips. Thranduil rubbed suiting circles on the small of Ithildin’s back, meeting him thrust for thrust, and Ithildin’s breath would hitch in his throat every time Thranduil rubbed against that bundle of nerves inside him, sending surges of delicious pleasure up his spine.

Without a warning, Thranduil took a hold of Ithildin’s thighs and stood up, lifting the Maia and setting him down on the stone edge of the tub. The king entwined their fingers together as he laid his consort down and he quickened the pace, eyes never leaving Ithildin’s as he leaned over him and placed their joined hands on either side of the Maia’s head.

Ithildin wrapped his legs around Thranduil’s waist, raising his hips to meet the heavy thrusts, and the air grew heavy with heat as the pressure built within them. Thranduil let go of Ithildin’s left hand and wrapped his right around the Maia’s weeping cock, pumping in time with his thrusts, watching his mate writhe in bliss. It didn’t take long for the beautiful creature beneath him to reach the peak, and the king hardly lasted a few more thrusts with the tight channel clamping down around him, pulling him mercilessly over the edge.

For a few moments they simply breathed together in the afterglow before Thranduil pulled out of Ithildin, gathering the smaller man into his arms and bringing him back into the warm water. The king cradled his consort in his arms, and Ithildin sighed in contentment as Thranduil held him close to the Elf’s chest.

No words needed to be exchanged between them as the water washed away the proof of their love. Some time later, Thranduil carried his half-awake beloved into their chambers and laid him down on their bed before joining the Maia, and together they slept through the night.

**cut**

“Thranduil! I thought I would find you here!” Ithildin spoke happily, and Thranduil allowed a small smile upon his lips for his mate. He nodded, dismissing his soldiers, and they left the throne room, pausing to bow for the King Consort.

“I see that you are feeling well again, pen melui,” (sweet one) Thranduil said as Ithildin reached his side, and, to his surprise, almost threw himself into the king’s awaiting arms, sealing his lips over Thranduil’s with excitement radiating from his being. “If you do not mind me asking, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company? I thought you would wait for me in our chambers or go and take a walk in the fresh air.” He knew that just this morning—for quite a few mornings, actually, and most of the afternoons as well—Ithildin has been feeling sick.

Since it had been going on for almost a week, and to both of their knowledge the Maiar weren’t prone to illness, Ithildin promised to pay a visit to a healer.

“I went to see Felanor as I promised, aran-nín.” Ithildin’s voice was wavering with his attempts to suppress his joy, and Thranduil’s eyebrows rose, because obviously whatever news Ithildin received was good in nature.

“Tell me then, Ithildin. You know that I worry for your health.” Ithildin laughed joyously and he kissed Thranduil again.

“I am with child, hervenn-nín! I carry your heir!” he cried out happily, and Thranduil’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Is that— Are you certain?” Seeing the usually calm, collected king so confused as to stutter, Ithildin giggled and hugged him tightly around the middle.

“I carry your son or daughter, Thranduil! Come summer, I shall give you a child,” he whispered breathlessly into Thranduil’s ear, only to yelp and squeal when the King wrapped his arms around his waist and spun him around in circles, laughing with joy Ithildin had yet to see before upon his face.

When the Maia’s feet met the ground again, Thranduil moved away from his beloved, and Ithildin’s eyes widened when the king knelt and rested his forehead against Ithildin’s stomach. The king whispered a prayer under his breath, and Ithildin could do nothing but place his hands on Thranduil’s shoulders.

The King took a hold of Ithildin’s thighs as he looked up at him, and the most beautiful smile Ithildin has ever seen graced Thranduil’s handsome features.

“Thank you, meleth-nín,” he whispered as tears filled his eyes. “Thank you for giving me both yourself and this child.”

“You gave me a home, aran-nín,” Ithildin spoke as he caressed Thranduil’s left cheek with the back of his right hand. “I shall give you as many children as the Valar will bless us with.”

Thranduil stood up to pull his adoring husband into a kiss. “Come now. We must summon everyone! There will be a celebration tonight! Come summer our kingdom will have an heir!” And with their joint laughter echoing through the halls, the two celebrated the upcoming birth of their child.

**cut**

_Sleep my child, as I sing this lullaby;_   
_nothing shall harm you while you’re in my arms._   
_No sorrow or pain shall ever touch your heart._   
_Sleep, my angel, bathed in light._

Thranduil looked up from the guard reports he was reading at his husband, who was sitting in a comfortable rocking chair. At his seventh month Ithildin was already showing quite a bit, but according to the healers and his own magic their child was growing strong and healthy. It was only normal that he was so big because of his small built.

In Thranduil’s eyes Ithildin was growing more and more beautiful with each passing day. Thranduil’s heart was filled with love and warmth, and although both of them could hardly wait to have their little one in their arms, the sight of Ithildin with child was by far the most beautiful sight in the world.

_Hush, my child, do not be afraid,_   
_it is only the rain which falls over lands_   
_—over hills and trees and the whispering lake,_   
_where many a secret wait to be revealed._

With a heavy sigh Thranduil looked at the papers in front of him. Even though they were but whispers, he knew—in his heart he knew—that there was a darkness growing in Middle-Earth. It may be just a whisper of a Shadow, but Thranduil still remembered the horrors of the War of the Last Alliance which had cost him his father and many friends. He still remembered the pain and suffering his people went through, and he feared that only the smallest of mistakes could mark the fall of the peace they lived in.

What was worse, he received word that the Dwarves of Erebor are digging deeper and deeper in their search for gold, and Thranduil knew that it could mean nothing good.

 _Have they learned nothing after they dug out the Durin’s Bane?_ he wondered in his thoughts, but he refused to dwell on them. He had bigger things to worry about. The spiders were growing in numbers, and there was a Shadow moving in on Mirkwood from the south. He would have to send more men to guard their borders and send a warning to Lothlórien to make certain that they are well prepared.

_Sleep now, my child, there is nothing to fear,_   
_my love shall guard you, and I’ll hold you near,_   
_through all the sorrows this world can bring,_   
_nothing shall harm you for as long as I am here._

Thranduil smiled as he looked at Ithildin and his worries faded into the back of his mind. He stood up and slowly walked over to Ithildin, who smiled back at him when he looked up. He knelt in front of his beautiful husband and placed his left hand on the rounded stomach, sighing when he felt a fluttering hit against his palm.

“He already recognizes you as his adar, meleth-nín,” (papa, my love) Ithildin spoke as he covered Thranduil’s hand with his left. “Your son is strong.”

“Son?” Thranduil glanced up at Ithildin and the Maia chuckled.

“I have a feeling that I am carrying a son. A prince that will bring about a great change for our people. A strong prince who will rule these lands, who will be taught by his adar to be a merciful and kind king.”

“What shall we call him?” Thranduil asked as he stood up and tugged on Ithildin’s hand. They walked over to their bed and lay down with Ithildin tucked against Thranduil’s side. “If you are so sure that it will be a son then we should choose a name for him.”

Ithildin hummed as he rested his head on Thranduil’s left shoulder and the king looked at him with a loving expression on his face. “He will be born when the leaves are green and the skies are bright. Spring flowers will be replaced with endless emerald treetops, and the ground will be covered in soft grass.”

“Then what shall his name be?” Thranduil asked and Ithildin smiled.

“Legolas,” he said, and his king nodded in agreement. “His name will be Legolas, son of Thranduil, prince of Mirkwood.”

“A fitting name for our son.” Ithildin nodded and sighed as he closed his eyes and relaxed against Thranduil’s chest.

The King wrapped his arms around his consort and kissed his mate’s forehead before he rested his left cheek against it, looking out the balcony door at the white sky from which snow was lightly falling. He closed his eyes as he prayed in his heart for the Shadow to pass before its strength could grow, but somewhere in the back of his mind—to his great sadness—he knew that his prayers would be in vain.

**cut**

Ithildin gasped and twitched in his seat, his hands immediately grasping his big stomach when he felt his son kick.

“My Lord, are you well?!”

“Is everything alright?!” His two ladies in waiting, Aerien and Cúnethil, jumped from their seats beside him and rushed to his side.

“Everything is alright.” He laughed when he saw relief cover their faces. “He is just missing his adar.” They took seats on the floor beside his legs and Aerien smiled up at him.

“Do not worry, my Lord. His Highness will return shortly,” she said.

“She is right,” Cúnethil added. “Our king merely went to pay respects to the King under the Mountain. He should return in a day or two.”

“I know that, my friends,” he assured them. “I cannot help but miss him, though. I have gotten so used to having him by my side at all times that I simply cannot help it.” The two Elven maidens exchanged glances and smiled knowingly at one another.

“Then maybe you should do something else to take your mind off his absence,” Aerien suggested.

“Maybe we should play a game!” Cúnethil cheered and Ithildin laughed.

“I am sorry to say that I am in no condition to play games,” he replied, and the two rolled their eyes at him. The fact that they were identical twins and knew each other well made it easy for them to act in synchronization, and they often reminded Ithildin of a pair of friends from his past life.

“We know that, Ithildin,” Cúnethil said.

“We could play cards! Both Cúnethil and I know several games and we can play them on the bed where you would be most comfortable,” Aerien continued after her sister. Ithildin just laughed.

“Alright, alright! I will play with you.” The two jumped to their feet and clapped happily.

“I shall go and bring the cards!” Aerien exclaimed.

“And I shall go for some fruit! There is still some time before dinner and I am feeling quite peckish!” And while the two made their way to the door, Ithildin slowly rose to his feet.

In the next moment, a sharp surge of pain passed up his spine and he fell back into his chair with a pained yelp.

“Your Highness!!” the two were by his side in a second, but as Ithildin raised his head to look at them, his sight started to blur and weakness overcame him.

And soon enough he knew nothing but darkness.

**cut**

Awareness came slowly, but once his memories returned, Ithildin gasped and he would have sat up quickly had a calming hand not settled on his shoulder.

“Felanor?” he breathed out as fear gripped his heart, and the Elven Healer smiled at him reassuringly.

“Be at peace, your Highness. Both you and your child are well,” she told him. At that Ithildin let go of the breath he was holding and sagged against the fluffy pillows.

“What happened? I remember pain and then I lost consciousness,” he wondered aloud as Felanor took a seat beside him and gently brushed his hair out of his face.

“Your body is getting ready for birth, King Consort,” she said. “There will be changes as your powers make it possible for you to give birth to your child and then to nurse it. It is only to be expected for you to grow weaker. I suggest that you refrain from moving around too much. You should remain in bed and keep your strength.”

Ithildin took a deep breath and nodded. “Please inform Cúnethil and Aerien of my condition. I can only imagine the state they are in. I must have frightened them.”

The healer smiled at him and nodded. “I shall do so. Now you must rest. You and your child are perfectly healthy and you should make sure that it remains so.”

“Is there any news of my king’s return?” Ithildin asked with hope shining in his eyes.

“Unfortunately I have no news to tell you of King Thranduil’s return. But I assure you, he will be back before your child is born.” Felanor stood up then, bowing at the waist, and left him alone.

He looked out at the dark sky as he placed his hands on his stomach. The warm breeze of the early summer danced through the room, and Ithildin swallowed with difficulty as a single green leaf floated in to rest beside him on the bed. He took it gently into his hand and a tiny smile graced his lips.

 _Soon, my little Legolas ,_ he thought, _soon I shall hold you in my arms, and your adar and I will protect you and love you until the end of all days._

**cut**

Thranduil rode toward his Halls with eyes wide and heart beating in his ears. For the past few hours he had had a bad feeling in his stomach, and worry forced him to leave his men behind and ride forth as fast as his deer could carry him.

He jumped off of his deer and ran into the great halls, the feeling worsening when he caught the Elves casting him worried glances and whispering as he walked forward. He had not even reached his chambers when a pained scream reached his ears and he broke into a run.

Just before he reached the doorway, the door opened and Aerien ran out with a bowl full of bloody water and several dirtied towels thrown over her shoulder.

“Your Highness!”

“Aerien, what is happening?!” He stopped her from bowing to him, and his breath hitched in his throat when she looked at him with a pale face and eyes wide with both fear and joy.

“His Grace, King Consort went into labor this morning,” she blurted out breathlessly, and Thranduil’s heart stopped beating for a moment. The only thing he could see was the blood on once pristine towels and the dirty water in the bowl.

 _Something has gone wrong,_ was his only thought before he rushed right past Aerien and into his chambers.

“Ithildin!” he cried out as he ran towards the bed where Cúnethil was sitting behind Ithildin, holding him up, and Felanor was kneeling on the bed in front of Ithildin whose lower body was covered with a sheet. He fell on his knees beside his beloved and took a fisted right hand between his trembling fingers. “Meleth…” (Love) he whispered brokenly when pain-filled eyes—darkened with agony almost to black—met his own.

“Aran-nín,” Ithildin gasped out before a scream of pain was torn from his mouth and his whole body cramped up.

“It is only a little while more, Ithildin!” Felanor soothed while Ithildin heaved through the pain. Helplessly, Thranduil glanced up at Cúnethil.

“What is wrong?” he asked in a wavering voice.

“The birth started too early,” Cúnethil answered. “The birthing channel hasn’t formed in full, but there is no way to stop the birth now.”

“Thranduil…”

“I am here, meleth-nín.” Thranduil immediately focused on Ithildin who was gasping for breath. His face was covered in beads of sweat and his cheeks were rosy despite his otherwise sickly pale skin.

“Our son…”

“Will be alright,” Thranduil interrupted him with confidence in his voice he didn’t really feel. “You are strong, pen melui. Both you and our son are well. You are doing well,” (sweet one) he murmured as he brushed Ithildin’s sweaty hair away from his forehead, heart clenching with pain when he felt the burning skin beneath his hand.

A small, grateful smile tilted dry, chapped lips before Ithildin squeezed his eyes tightly shut and tried to suppress another scream of pain as another contraction came.

“Cúnethil, please.” Thranduil stood up and Cúnethil slowly moved to let him take her place. Just as the contraction stopped, Ithildin tilted his head back with a confused frown and Thranduil kissed his forehead gently. “I am right here, pen bell. I am right here.” (strong one)

“Your son is coming,” Felanor warned them, and, as Thranduil clasped his right hand, Ithildin whimpered and took a deep breath. “Push on your next contraction.”

Ithildin nodded and Thranduil closed his eyes as he bowed his head and buried his nose in Ithildin’s hair.

_By the grace of the Valar, let them be alright._

**cut**

Thranduil licked his dry lips and tried his best to stop the tears from falling—to no avail. He stood at the head of the bed holding his wiggling son in his arms, and a pair of pale blue eyes gazed up at him with wonder from a small, bright red and wrinkled face. Tufts of pale hair were already atop of his son’s head, and to Thranduil’s surprise the baby was holding on to his finger as though this tiny hand would never let him go.

“Thranduil?” He raised his head and found Ithildin looking up at him with bliss glowing in his tired eyes. Felanor and the twins had cleaned him up and settled him comfortably in the bed before they left to spread the good news.

Thranduil swallowed and he slowly took a seat beside Ithildin, careful as not to jostle his husband too much. The birth was difficult and painful, and Ithildin was under strict orders from Felanor not to move until she gave him permission.

“He is beautiful,” the king whispered as he carefully leaned down to lay a kiss on Ithildin’s lips.

“One can already see that he will look just like you.” Ithildin spoke with love radiating from every word.

“And yet it appears that he has your smile and the shape of your eyes,” Thranduil commented, causing Ithildin to laugh gently. “You did well, meleth-nín.” Thranduil whispered as their son cooed and settled in his arms. He looked deep into Ithildin’s tired eyes, and his heart warmed when he saw the blessed smile on his face. “You did beautifully.”

“ _We_ did, aran-nín,” Ithildin corrected him. “Legolas will grow up strong and wise. He will grow up happy.”

Thranduil kissed Ithildin’s lips once again. “Sleep now. You deserve rest.” And as Ithildin fell asleep Thranduil stood up to lay their son in his crib. The newborn wiggled around in his tightly bound blankets for a minute before he settled with Thranduil broad hand on his stomach.

 _Sleep, my son. My Legolas._ He smiled and another tear trailed down his cheek. _No harm shall ever befall you, not while I am here. Sleep, and let no darkness touch your dreams._

**cut**

“Thranduil?” The king looked up from his son and toward his husband, who was sitting on their bed with a sad countenance, his hands wringing the edge of his tunic between them as though there was something heavy resting on his mind.

At the sight, Thranduil frowned in worry and hurried over to Ithildin to kneel in front of him, gazing up into his eyes and covering smaller hands with his bigger ones to still them.

“What is it, meleth-nín? Is there something wrong?” he asked and Ithildin bowed his head as he bit the inside of his bottom lip, an action which told Thranduil that the Maia was trying to conceal his nervousness, although why he thought the king couldn’t see him doing so was beyond Thranduil’s comprehension.

“Thranduil, have you— Have you grown tired of me?” The King stilled completely as Ithildin looked into his eyes with tears filling his own emerald orbs.

“What?” Thranduil breathed out weakly.

Ithildin swallowed as he licked his lips, obviously trying to suppress the tears which threatened to fall. “You have not touched me in months. I understood it before while I was healing from the birth, but Felanor said that I am completely healed. She said that I am well and… and I cannot help but think that you do not want me anymore.”

“Ithildin…”

“I’m sorry, I just…” Despite his valiant fight, tears escaped the Maia’s eyes. “I’m sorry.” He slipped away and disappeared in the bathing room, leaving Thranduil alone with their son.

He stood up with a worried frown as he made his way back to the crib.

Certainly, it had been six months since their son was born, and it was true that it took a while for Ithildin to heal and get better. In his attempt to give him time, Thranduil abstained from touching his lover. In all honesty, the very thought of inflicting any sort of pain to his beloved tore his heart in pieces, so he suppressed his own need and desire, but in the end it appeared that he did more harm than good.

He smiled at his sleeping son and hummed.

 _Well, there is only one way to fix the mess I made ,_ he thought as he leaned down to kiss Legolas’ forehead before he turned around and made his way towards the bathing room.

His heart ached when he found Ithildin sitting on one of the submerged rocks in the natural tub with his legs hugged to his chest and his face hidden in his knees. His long hair fell around his shoulders and floated on the water, and even though no sounds escaped him, Thranduil knew he was crying.

He took his clothes off and slid into the water.

“Look at me, meleth-n­ín,” he whispered as he came to stand in front of Ithildin, waist deep in water. The Maia slowly raised his head and Thranduil’s heart clenched when he saw tear stained cheeks. “I have hurt you greatly.”

“No, Thranduil—”

“I will not hear it,” the king interrupted as he cupped Ithildin’s cheeks between his hands and wiped the remaining tears away with his thumbs. “In my attempts to give you time to heal and rest, I made a mistake of thinking you weak, and I hurt you. You are stronger than any man or woman, Elf or Human, that I have ever met. You are my husband and my beloved, and you birthed me an heir, and I hurt you. Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

“Thranduil, please!” Ithildin cried out as he took a hold of Thranduil’s wrists with his trembling hands and new tears trailed down his cheeks. “I understand! I just—”

“No, pen bain.” Thranduil caressed Ithildin’s cheeks lovingly and his eyes filled with warmth. “I shall make it up to you. I promise.” He bent over and kissed the Maia deeply, feeling a shiver shake Ithildin’s body at his touch. “You are my precious husband, my Stars and Shadows and Moon. I would be naught without you.” Ithildin lowered his legs as Thranduil stepped in between them.

He gently pulled his right hand out of Ithildin’s trembling hold and led his left hand down.

“Can you feel what you are doing to me?” he murmured as he pulled Ithildin to his feet and wrapped their joined hands around his rock hard sex. He entwined his left hand in Ithildin’s hair, keeping his head up and their eyes locked on one another’s. “You have no idea for how long I have been suppressing this need, how long I have been dreaming of holding you. While you were ripe with our child, I have been thinking of having you. Touching you. Feeling you.”

“Thranduil…” Ithildin leaned against the Elf, letting the king feel his own need, and Thranduil wrapped his big hand around both of their members, pressing them together and forcing Ithildin to grab ahold of Thranduil’s arms to steady himself as his legs buckled.

“I have missed the feel of your body against mine. Your warmth and your scent,” the Elf murmured against Ithildin’s ear as he placed his hands upon rounded hips.

Pregnancy had changed the Maia’s body somewhat, giving him rounder hips and a small, seemingly permanent bump at his lower stomach, but Thranduil couldn’t say that he minded. To the contrary, those changes had, in his eyes, only enhanced the beauty of his husband, being proof of what they created together.

Thranduil littered small kisses on Ithildin’s neck as he slipped around the smaller body, pressing them back-to-front, placing his large hands on the small bump on Ithildin’s stomach. He wrapped his right hand around Ithildin’s weeping cock and tugged a few times while Ithildin rested his head back against the king’s right shoulder, giving Thranduil a chance to level thin lips with his mate’s left ear.

He murmured passionate words in Elvish, words that made Ithildin’s knees go weak as Thranduil pumped his length with his right hand and teased his nipples with his left. Ithildin grabbed at his lover’s wrists trying to steady himself, fighting against the weakness trying to overwhelm his body.

Sensing this, Thranduil pushed his lover down, and Ithildin yelped when he suddenly found himself bent over the edge of the tub, but braced his weight on the warm stone. He looked over his right shoulder, watching as Thranduil reached to take one of the glass bottles filled with different oils, and Ithildin licked his lips trying to calm his breathing to keep himself from coming too soon. He shivered and rested his forehead on his crossed forearms when he felt Thranduil caress his back, moving his hair to the side to hang over his left shoulder. He gasped and arched up a bit when he felt soft, loving lips on his right shoulder and a strong hand resting on his left hip.

The moment he felt a slick finger tease his entrance, his whole body froze in expectation, his eyes closed and lips parted, his hips moving back while Thranduil slowly pushed his finger inside the tight heat. “You are as tight as the first time I had you, pen melui.” Thranduil murmured as he leaned over Ithildin, slowly moving his finger in and out. “I cannot wait until I am inside you.”

Ithildin mewled and arched closer to Thranduil and further into his touch when the king pressed another finger inside. The Maia bit into his right forearm, trying to muffle his moans as not to awaken their son sleeping in the other room, and Thranduil chuckled.

“You are already ready for me, melethron,” he murmured as he added another finger, and Ithildin cried out around his fist when Thranduil brushed against his prostate, continuing to rub against it all the while sending surges of pleasure up Ithildin’s spine.

Ithildin almost sagged to his knees when Thranduil pulled his fingers out, but the king only paused to take a firm hold of his hips before entering the smaller man in one swift thrust. At the sensation, the Maia screamed around his fist and arched upwards in bliss. Thranduil pulled out slowly only to slam inside him again, making Ithildin’s body bow lower as he spread his left arm in front of himself, resting his head against it, continuing to muffle his moans and cries with his right fist. The king would pull out slowly and enter him almost ruthlessly, slamming head-on into his prostate with every thrust, and Ithildin could do nothing but take it all, now completely relying on Thranduil to keep him on his feet.

It had been far too long since his king touched him, and every thrust, every caress—every word which slipped off of his lips—brought Ithildin closer and closer to his orgasm.

Thranduil leaned over him, leveling his lips with the Maia’s right ear and reaching under the slender body with his right hand to wrap it around the neglected cock of his lover. Ithildin didn’t even understand what his king murmured into his ear, too lost in sensation, and he came with a choked cry.

Not a moment later he felt Thranduil fill him with warm seed, and the Elf bowed over the smaller body with fatigue, bracing the weight of his larger form on his left elbow as he breathed against Ithildin’s right shoulder, laying an occasional open-mouthed kiss against his heated skin. He pulled out of the smaller man slowly and gathered him in strong arms before he took a seat on a submerged stone bench. Ithildin straddled his lap and wrapped his arms around Thranduil’s shoulders, tucking his forehead under Thranduil’s chin and placing a few kisses on the king’s neck. The Maia shivered when Thranduil wrapped his right arm around him to secure him in place and reached under him with one hand to tease his loosened entrance with the tips of an index and middle finger.

“Thranduil, please!” he gasped breathlessly, and the king chuckled and smirked.

“Forgive me, Ithildin. Now that I have tasted you again, I find it hard to resist you.”

“Our son is in the other room.” Ithildin tightened his hold on Thranduil’s shoulders while Thranduil nibbled on the tip of his pointed left ear.

“I cannot hear him moving. He is still asleep.”

“I know but…”

“Please, meleth-nín,” Thranduil interrupted, and Ithildin’s breath hitched in his throat when he felt his king’s cock twitch against his thigh even as long fingers entered him again, lightly brushing against his prostate in teasing, soft caresses. “I did not even realize how much I missed touching you.”

Ithildin mewled weakly and sagged against his husband, biting into his bottom lip as Thranduil’s fingers moved inside him, constantly pressing against his prostate. His own cock began to harden again in interest, and he giggled weakly, trying to distract himself from the pleasure.

“Are you trying to impregnate me again, aran-nín?” (my king) he teased, only for Thranduil to release a dark laugh.

“What if I am?” he drawled, watching as Ithildin raised his head slowly. Thranduil swallowed difficultly when passion-blown, dark green eyes looked into his.

“You will have to try much harder.” Ithildin spoke this in a deeper, sultry voice, and a second later found himself impaled on Thranduil’s hard length for a second time, making him throw his head back with a silent scream.

“Then we shall try _very_ hard.”

**cut**

_Call it a flower if you don’t know its name,_   
_to a loving heart it is all the same._   
_Water and love it with all of your soul,_   
_and it will grow, and grow, and grow._

Thranduil laughed as he watched his husband and ten year old son dance and sing while Aerien and Cúnethil played the tune on their flutes. Dressed in dark green robes and with his hair braided in a thick rope reaching his thighs, Ithildin looked like a forest Nymph sent to enchant the weak hearts of men.

_Call it a bird if you don’t know its kin._   
_Ask where it flew—what has it seen._   
_Let it spread its wings and fly far away,_   
_forever it will stay your most loyal friend._

Legolas was growing strong and healthy, and he was already the spitting image of Thranduil. The child danced around his atya (papa, Q) while Ithildin spun around and spread his arms to the sides, allowing his long green sleeves to dance in the wind. Thranduil’s heart filled with love as the beautiful scene unfolded before him.

“Ada! Come!” Legolas called out, and Thranduil laughed as he stood up and walked over to take Ithildin into his arms. Legolas took a seat beside the twins and clapped in the rhythm to the song.

_Call it a river, call it a sea;_   
_call it an ocean—whatever it be._   
_Whether it gurgles or thunders in fall,_   
_its whispers will follow the sounds of your song._

_Be it mountains, be it hills;_   
_be it plains or the rolling seas._   
_Sing out this song and I will be there;_   
_whether I’m here or far, far away._

Thranduil wrapped his arms around Ithildin’s waist and twirled him around in circles while Ithildin threw his head back and laughed gaily.

“My lord Thranduil!” The two stopped and looked at the Elf running towards them. Ithildin and Thranduil exchanged a glance and the Maia nodded, walking over to stand beside Legolas, placing his hands on their son’s shoulders when Legolas came to stand in front of him.

“My King, there is news of Erebor. A dragon approaches from the north!” Thranduil turned around quickly to look at Ithildin and Legolas and found the twins standing on either side of Ithildin. The Maia’s eyes were wide with fear, but there was also encouragement in his gaze.

“Prepare the army. We will ride out at nightfall,” he told the soldier, watching as the man ran off carrying his orders.

“Come, princeling. We must leave your parents to talk,” Aerien said softly, leading Legolas away, but only after Ithildin and Thranduil each leaned down to lay a kiss on his forehead.

The moment they were gone Thranduil turned to look at Ithildin.

“We must ride out. Our alliance with the Dwarves forces us to do so.”

“I know,” Ithildin said and cupped Thranduil’s face between his hands, caressing his cheeks with his thumbs. “But keep in mind what they did—they called this upon themselves. You know that just as well as I do. Do not fight a losing battle.” Thranduil agreed with a nod before he lowered his head to kiss his beloved deeply.

“I will see you soon, Ithildin. Take care of yourself and of our son.”

“I will.”

And, with that said, Thranduil left the courtyard. Ithildin remained standing alone.

With a heavy sigh he looked at the sky and closed his eyes.

_Please, bring him home safe. I beg of you. Let him return._

**cut**

Thranduil looked up as he and his armies marched towards his Halls. His shoulders were hunched and his countenance grave, but a small light shone in his eyes when he saw Ithildin and Legolas standing on a balcony far above. His heart grew lighter when Legolas ran outside, knowing that his son was hurrying to meet him.

When Ithildin raised his right hand and placed it over his heart, Thranduil smiled.

His beloved knew that they did not join the fight. He knew how heavy it laid on Thranduil’s heart, and it did not make Thranduil any less of a wise ruler or a good man in his eyes.

There are some battles that cannot be won.

And even though their alliance with the Dwarves was ruined forever, at least their people did not suffer losses which would have decimated their ranks. Some decisions were grave but necessary. The only thing that mattered was the fact that his people were safe and his beloved husband and son still loved him.

Nothing was more important than that.

**cut**

“Adar?” (father) Thranduil looked up from the book he was reading, turning toward his son.

Legolas stood in the doorway of his parents’ room and nodded at Thranduil, who checked his sleeping husband before he closed the book and slowly got out of bed. He quietly walked out of the room and closed the door. He smiled thinly at his son and led the younger Elf down the hall.

Legolas was a fully grown Elf now, and it sometimes amazed Thranduil how fast his son grew into a man. They stood at an equal height and Legolas was now—completely by his own devotion and work—a general of their armies. He was one of the best archers and swordsmen. From his adar he learned to be wise and merciful, and from his atya he learned how to be kind and considerate, how to see goodness and beauty in everything around them. Legolas had a good heart and a sharp mind, but he also knew the pride of a prince. Sometimes he seemed a bit arrogant and cold, but those who knew him—those who were close to him—knew it was just a façade which helped him see to the hearts of people around him.

“What is it you wish to talk to me about, ion-nín?” (my son) Thranduil asked as they walked down the hallways of their home.

“Tauriel and I returned from guard duty,” Legolas spoke gravely. His voice was calm and level, just like Ithildin’s, and it had the fine silky quality his atya’s voice carried. “The spiders have advanced closer. The Darkness is spreading. Rumors reached us of Dwarves moving towards Shire. We have also encountered _Orcs_.” He bit out the name of the accursed race as though it left a bitter taste on his tongue, and Thranduil frowned in response.

“Has word been sent to our brethren in Lothlórien?” he asked, and Legolas nodded.

“Of course. Mithrandir is walking among people again, and there are rumors about the Ithron Rhosg coming out of his hide-out as well.” (Brown Wizard) Legolas stopped and looked at his father. “Adar, you and I both know that we can survive this fight. We will fight and we will come out of this victorious. But the Darkness is growing. You have seen it—a Shadow awakening to the south.” Thranduil sighed as he continued walking again, leaving his son no other choice but to follow.

“Yes, I have seen the Shadow growing. Many of our brothers and sisters are already sailing into the West. Many of us already hear the sea calling us to the Far Shores.” Thranduil glanced at his son, and when he found him walking with his head bowed he frowned as well.

“What is it you are not telling me, Legolas?” He stopped and Legolas swallowed nervously and licked his lips before he looked at his adar.

“It is about Atya.” He spoke in a strained voice and Thranduil’s frown deepened. “I know he has been hiding it from you, and that the only reason he managed to do so is because you are currently constantly in meetings with the generals, but he couldn’t hide it from Tauriel, Aerien, Cúnethil and myself, if for no other reason than because we spend more time around him.”

“What have you seen?” Thranduil murmured as worry gripped his heart.

“Atya is fading, adar.” Legolas spoke with sorrow in his eyes. “He is of the Maiar and his bonds with this world are not as strong as ours are. You know that better than I do.” Thranduil swallowed heavily as his shoulder drooped. “Even though he is hiding it masterfully, if you think about it, the call of the sea is growing stronger for him with each passing day. As evil spreads, his will to remain wanes. It cannot be seen yet if you do not look carefully, but surely, you have seen it as well.” Thranduil closed his eyes as he took a deep breath and walked out on a small balcony overlooking the road leading into the fortress.

He has seen it, although his heart couldn’t help but deny the truth. Of course, the changes were so subtle that it was almost impossible to notice, which made it all that easier for the heart-broken king to turn away.

A shadow had appeared in Ithildin’s eyes. It had been there for several years now, and Thranduil was impressed by his beloved husband for managing to hide it for so long from their perceptive son and their closest friends.

But the truth was that Ithildin was fading, and no matter how much Thranduil did not want to admit it, let alone speak of it, something had to be done before the Shadow grew stronger—for it was inevitable that it would—and his beloved husband and Legolas’ loving atya was taken from them by force. Many more years could pass, but Thranduil knew that if something wasn’t done, someday soon it may prove to be too late to do anything.

“Adar?” He looked over his shoulder at his only son.

“What should I do, ion-nín? I cannot let him go,” (my son) he spoke mournfully.

Legolas placed his right hand on his father’s right shoulder and squeezed. “You know that I love Atya. I cannot love him more than you do, but I _do_ love him more than anything I know. I do not wish to lose him either, but in Valinor he would live. Here he would fade away into Shadows.”

Thranduil closed his eyes for a moment as his heart was swallowed by pain. “Sometimes I wonder how you came to be so wise, Legolas.” He spoke this in a grave voice, and the younger Elf smiled, although his eyes were full of sadness.

“With you and Atya as my parents, I would be ashamed to call myself your son if I was not wise, although there is still a lot for me to learn.”

Thranduil sighed as he pulled his son into his arms and Legolas returned the hug with no hesitance.

“We must let him go,” the prince whispered, and he felt his adar’s hold on him tighten.

“I know, Legolas. I know.”

**cut**

Thranduil walked into his and Ithildin’s chambers with a heavy heart.

Days turned to weeks.

Weeks turned to months.

Months turned to years.

And sixty years passed them by without anyone even noticing how fast they went. With each passing day Ithildin grew weaker, and eventually it came to the point where he could no longer hide it.

They had gone through much together, and even though Thranduil tried many times to let Ithildin go, he could not. Not when his beloved was so determined to stay. Even through the Battle of Five Armies, while Thranduil and Legolas fought, Ithildin made sure that Mirkwood was kept safe, and that their enemies advanced no further than they already had.

Even though they were victorious, the Shadow continued to grow, and with each passing day it was falling over Ithildin more and more.

The Maia was still as beautiful as ever. His raven hair fell to his knees in sleek tresses and his skin still looked as though the very shine of the Moon was trapped within it, but his once lively emerald eyes were shadowed. No matter how much he tried to smile there was a sadness in the corners of his lips, creeping sorrow.

“Do you intend to stand there forever, aran-nín?” The velveteen voice of his beloved woke him up from his musings, and Thranduil walked over to the bed they had shared for many decades. Ithildin closed the book he was reading and placed it on the nightstand, sighing contentedly when Thranduil took a seat beside him and took his hands between his larger, warmer palms.

“Am I not allowed to admire the beauty of my husband?” he asked teasingly. Ithildin chuckled in response.

“Is it not better to admire me up close?” he drawled, and Thranduil shook his head as he laughed. But then he shivered when a gentle hand cupped his left cheek and he looked up into a pair of shadowed emerald orbs, still full of love and adoration. “What is it, meleth-nín?”

The King sighed as he shifted until he had gathered his husband into his arms. Ithildin rested his head on Thranduil’s chest and listened to his strong heartbeat while the King wrapped his arms securely around the Maia.

“You are fading, pen bell,” he whispered brokenly.

Ithildin raised his head to look into his eyes with a sad smile. “We both knew this would happen, meleth. I am not of this world and the Darkness which continues to grow is lying heavier upon me than it is upon you and our son. I will resist the call of the sea for as long as I can, but you and I both know that it might not be long before the Shadow takes me.”

“I know,” Thranduil murmured as he bowed down to kiss his beloved. “And even though I know that I have to let you go, for I would rather have you wait for me in Valinor than suffer a faith worse than death. I cannot make peace with losing you.”

The Maia sighed as he rested his forehead on Thranduil’s. “And I cannot bear the thought of leaving you and our son here. Valinor will be no heaven for me until we are reunited.” Thranduil pulled Ithildin into another kiss, and the Maia sighed as he relaxed against his beloved husband.

“Tomorrow I shall let you go,” Thranduil told the Maia as he rolled them over to loom above the beautiful form of his beloved. “But for tonight let me memorize the softness of your skin, the scent of your hair and the sound of your voice, for only memories will remain once you are gone.”

Ithildin entwined his fingers in Thranduil’s long hair and pulled him into a deep kiss before he looked deep into his eyes.

“No matter the distance between us, aran-nín, you shall forever be my husband, and I shall wait for you to join me on the white shores of Valinor. No matter how long it will take.”

**cut**

“Atya?” The Maia turned around and a glorious smile tugged on his lips, although his eyes were full of tears.

“Legolas!” He ran into his son’s arms and Legolas hugged him tightly to his chest while the Maia buried his face in his neck and breathed in his unique scent, the perfect combination of him and Thranduil with a hint of summer grass in the early morning. “I was hoping that I would see you.”

“I would not allow you to leave without seeing you, Atya,” Legolas comforted as he buried his nose in his atya’s hair, taking in his reassuring scent—the scent and warmth he always had and forever would associate with home, safety and the quiet strength which always radiated from his atya.

Ithildin pulled away and looked up at his son’s handsome face as he cupped it between his hands, caressing high cheek-bones with his thumbs.

“Take good care of your father and of yourself, my Greenleaf,” he whispered. Legolas’ heart clenched when he saw fresh tears roll down his atya’s pale cheeks. “I shall carry you both in my heart, and my thoughts will always be with you.”

“Atya…” Legolas placed his hands on his Atara’s waist as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against his parent’s. “Be safe on your journey. May the waters be still and the winds blow in your favor. One day we shall meet again.”

Ithildin rose on his toes to kiss Legolas’ forehead and hugged him one last time.

“Be it mountains, be it hills;   
be it plains or the rolling seas.   
Sing out this song and I will be there;   
whether I’m here or far, far away.”

Legolas released a small laugh and looked in his atya’s eyes, trying to push down his own tears. He looked up and his lips curved into a smile when he saw his adar standing at the entrance to the stables. Ithildin turned, and when the Maia saw Thranduil he ran into the king’s arms.

Legolas walked over to Ithildin’s mare and gently patted her head while his parents enjoyed their last moments together. They would meet again one day on the white shores of Valinor.

“Stay safe, meleth-nín. You shall forever be in my thoughts,” Thranduil whispered as he held Ithildin close.

“Be careful and remain a kind, wise King, estel-nín. I shall wait for you,” (my hope) Ithildin murmured against Thranduil’s lips while the king gently brushed his fingers through long hair, memorizing the feel of it on his skin.

“Do not forget that I love you, Ithildin.” He spoke in a strained voice. “Do not forget us.”

“I will sooner forget myself and everything I am than forget you and our son. Be safe, and may the Valar watch over both of you and guide you to me one day.”

They shared another deep kiss. Aerien and Cúnethil walked in, leading their own horses behind them, and they broke apart. Thranduil led Ithildin to his black mare and helped him mount.

When Ithildin pulled his hood up, he reached down with his hands to gently take Thranduil’s and Legolas’ hands in his.

“Ride fast and do not look back, Atya. We shall forever keep you in our thoughts,” Legolas whispered.

“We are ready, your Grace,” Aerien spoke sadly. Ithildin took a deep breath and nodded.

As the three figures clad in long, dark cloaks rode out of the fortress, Thranduil and Legolas stood on the gateway watching them until they disappeared out of sight.

Legolas looked at his father and his heart clenched when he saw a single tear trail down the older Elf’s cheek despite how he held his head up and stood tall. The prince placed his left hand on his adar’s right shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“We met on pure chance on a night just as dark as this one,” Thranduil told his son in a heavy voice. “I saw his skin shine in the moonlight and his hair looked like shadows hiding him from my sight. When I first looked into his eyes, I knew that I would love him forever, and yet fate decided to part us long before either one of us were ready.”

“We shall all be together one day, adar.” Legolas spoke this with full conviction.

Thranduil took a deep, shuddering breath and looked at Legolas.

“Come now, son. You must be on your way as well. The Council of Elrond will begin in less than a month, and you must be there. The fate of Middle-Earth will soon be decided.”

**cut**

Ithildin leaned upon the railing of his ship, watching as the shores of Middle-Earth disappeared on the horizon. The warm summer wind danced in his hair and ruffled his clothes, and the tears which flowed down his cheeks turned to crystalline droplets as they fell.

_To this world I came a life-time ago,_   
_no friend or foe did I know._   
_At the edge of the abyss I found safety and love._   
_I found meaning to the torture I once called life._

_I lived and I loved, and I have no regret_   
_sans the sorrow in my chest starting to set,_   
_for I have left my heart in the hands of my beloved_   
_whom I am now leaving before our lives even started._

_Fare well, my love, do not greave,_   
_I shall wait for you where the grass is ever-green._   
_Be safe, my son, for you I shall wait,_   
_where the waters are crystal clear_   
_and the sun will never set._

**cut**

“Thranduil Hîr-nín, we are near.” (My lord Thranduil) Thranduil nodded at the Elf standing behind him before he turned around to gaze upon the horizon. His heart danced in his chest when he saw white shores melting into beautiful green plains.

And, in the distance, a forest of white trees with golden leaves glimmered in the sun.

The moment the ship docked Thranduil departed from it, a tiny smile forming on his lips when he saw Aerien and Cúnethil waiting for him.

They bowed to him as one, with brilliant grins on their faces, and he inclined his head toward them. The twins exchanged a giggle when they saw that he was practically shivering with excitement.

“Tolo, Hîr-nín,” (come) Aerien said.

“He is waiting for you,” Cúnethil added.

They led him to the three horses waiting for their riders and mounted.

Thranduil could hardly wait to see his beloved, so they pushed their horses as fast as they could. The King of Mirkwood could hardly see the beauty of the trees and houses around them as they went deeper and deeper in the forest.

He reigned in his horse when the twins stopped, and the pair showed him towards a staircase going around one of the thickest trees he had ever seen, up into a house built in the canopy.

Gratefully, he nodded at them and then hurried up the stairs. The closer he came to the top the slower his footsteps became as his heart picked up speed and breathing became harder and harder to bear.

_Call it a flower if you don’t know its name,_   
_to a loving heart it is all the same._   
_Water and love it with all of your soul,_   
_and it will grow, and grow, and grow._

The voice of his beloved overlapped with another voice, and Thranduil’s eyes widened as he held his breath. The door was open when he reached the entrance, and he hid behind the doorframe, his whole body freezing in place.

_Call it a bird if you don’t know its kin._   
_Ask where it flew—what has it seen._   
_Let it spread its wings and fly far away,_   
_forever it will stay your most loyal friend._

In the middle of the room, sitting in a chair carved out of the white tree, was Ithildin, and around him danced a child with long, raven black hair. She could not be older than three summers, and her little chiming voice echoed against the wooden walls.

Ithildin looked radiant. He was dressed in white robes and the sleeves gathered around his elbows while he clapped in the rhythm of the song they were singing, watching the child dance around him.

_Call it a river, call it a sea;_   
_call it an ocean—whatever it be._   
_Whether it gurgles or thunders in fall,_   
_its whispers will follow the sounds of your song._

Thranduil gasped and grabbed a hold of the doorframe, his knees threatening to give out beneath him. He leaned his forehead against the wood as tears filled his eyes.

_Be it mountains, be it hills;_   
_be it plains or the rolling seas._   
_Sing out this song and I will be there;_   
_whether I’m here or far, far away._

“Atya! Atya! When will Aerien and Cúnethil return?” The child hopped in front of Ithildin in excitement.

“Soon, iell-nín, soon. They went to see the arriving ships.” (my daughter) Ithildin’s voice washed over Thranduil, causing him to close his eyes and hold his breath.

“Will adar be on one of them?!” Thranduil’s eyes snapped open and his heart stopped beating in his chest. Ithildin sighed and brushed the child’s long hair behind her pointed ears.

“We can only hope, pen mell. We can only hope.” (dear one)

Thranduil swallowed hard and steeled his frame. He raised a shaking hand and knocked on the wooden doorframe, and the pair looked at him. All of a sudden Thranduil found himself the target of two identical pairs of emerald eyes.

Heavy silence settled over them as Ithildin stood up slowly, obviously holding his breath while his eyes filled with tears of happiness.

“Suilaid…” Thranduil’s voice broke on the short greeting as he took a step inside the small room, “Erlúm niel and dae.” (Greetings… Our time apart has been very/too long.)

“Thranduil!” Ithildin cried out as he ran into his husband’s arms, wrapping his own around familiar shoulders and sealing his lips over his king’s in a kiss long overdue.

Thranduil hugged him tightly to his chest as tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Hûn-n­ín! Estel-nín! I have missed you more than life itself,” (my heart, my hope) Thranduil said against Ithildin’s ear.

“I waited for you, aran-nín. I waited just like I promised.” They parted and Ithildin smiled at him brightly before wiping his tears away with a pale sleeve. “Come, hervenn-nín, you must meet someone.” Ithildin turned around and looked at the little Elfling standing in the middle of the room with her hands clasped behind her back and her head bowed.

She was looking at them from under her fringe and biting into her bottom lip.

“Gîlriel, tolo!” (come) She took a few steps forward while Ithildin came to crouch beside her. He draped his right arm around her back and smiled up at Thranduil. “She was born seven months after my arrival here.”

Thranduil walked over to them on shaky legs and fell on his knees in front of them. Gently, he cupped the small face gazing at him with wonder and hope, and his heart burst with joy and happiness.

“Gîlriel…” he whispered, “my star-princess, my daughter.” He caressed the cheek of the face that had his features and Ithildin’s coloring, and new tears filled his eyes. “I have dreamt of your face.”

“Adar!” She cried out and threw herself into his arms. Thranduil hugged her tightly and looked at Ithildin, trying to convey everything through simple meeting of eyes.

Only three years have passed since they parted, but to them it felt like centuries.

They suffered apart only to find happiness in the Undying Lands together.

And while their family was not yet complete with their son still inhabiting Middle-Earth, they finally knew peace.

Now that they were together again, nothing would part them.

With the blessing of the Valar they would remain together until the end of all things.

**cut**

**Hope you liked it!!! Thanks again to EbonyKitty552 for her masterful editing of this story!**

**Leave a review and feel free to check out my other stories!**

**All my love,  
Ms. Yuki**


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